


The Unicorn's Horn

by Ferika



Series: Breaking New Territory [Wincest] [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Detective Noir, F/M, First Kiss, Gen, M/M, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Unicorns, detective fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 05:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13427886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferika/pseuds/Ferika
Summary: Sam and Dean head to a town called Virtue when they hear reports of a man who has succumbed to multiple stab-wounds – and a girlfriend who states they were inflicted by a unicorn. But unicorns aren’t real, are they?





	1. Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Thanks for stopping by. 
> 
> I had originally planned to write sheer, unadulterated pornography. But I think this work has turned out to have enough plot even without the porn. The rest of the series will probably be too.
> 
> This work contains Wincest , meaning Sam and Dean Winchester have a romantic relationship. If you're just here for the porn, because life's too short for reading entire stories, I would like to draw your attention to Chapters Five and Twelve.

_Fire. Torment. Lucifer._

Sam woke instantly, sitting bolt upright. He was panting. It was dark, but he knew he was in a hotel room because of the clinical scent. He heard Dean snoring softly in the bed next to his. Sam hesitated, but then stood up and felt his way over to his brother’s bed.

“Sam?” Dean murmured, half-awake. “Did you have that dream again?”

“Yeah,” Sam grumbled in reply.

Dean shifted to make room for Sam. Sam hopped into the bed. It was warm and smelled of aftershave. Dean’s hand accidentally brushed against Sam’s leg, and he retracted it instantly as if he’d been bitten.

“You know, you can’t keep doing this,” Dean mumbled. He turned over.

Sam was going to reply, but he heard Dean’s breathing slow enough to know he was asleep. As if his snoring wasn’t an accurate enough measure.

\---

Dean woke. His bed was cosy and cocoon-like. He wanted it to last forever. Dean opened his eyes slowly, savouring each moment.

The first thing he saw was Sam’s hazel eyes, staring at him, and only twenty centimetres away from him. Twenty centimetres max.

“Sammy, that better be your arm I feel against my thigh,” Dean said slowly.

“Uuhhh,” replied Sam.

Sam was Dean’s brother; Dean wasn’t allowed to register anything except shock at the situation – no matter how he felt. Dean scrambled to get up. His legs caught in the bedsheets, and he ended up falling, landing next to the bed with a surprised exhalation.

“Dean! Are you okay?!” Sam leaned across the bed.

The older of the Winchesters managed to untangle himself from the blanket, and stood up. He felt embarrassed. If he had been woken up by a demon, he would have been at its mercy by now. But he wasn’t facing a demon, he was facing something much more supernatural: Sam’s erection.

“Jesus!” Dean cried, before he could stop himself. “You could knock out a rugaru with that thing!”

Sam followed Dean’s gaze. Sam was wearing a white t-shirt and some plaid pyjama shorts, which presently had a tell-tale bulge in the front.

“Oh, sorry,” Sam said. He looked around for the bedsheets, but they were around Dean’s feet on the floor.

“I’m gonna go get us some breakfast,” Dean announced. Flustered, he put his hands in his hair. “You go deal with that.”

Sam put his hands over his shorts, trying to cover up the unmistakable tent of a hard-on. “I’m sorry.”


	2. Virtue

“What?” Dean said, chewing on a mouthful of hazelnut chocolate waffle.

“You’ve got a little bit of…” Sam gestured to his cheek, and Dean copied the motion, wiping off a chocolate smear. He grunted.

Sam picked at his own plate of food. He wasn’t hungry. Dean on the other hand seemed to have a black hole in the place where his stomach should be.

“What’s up?” Dean asked. He wasn’t usually very perceptive, especially when there was still food on his plate. Sam knew he must have his emotions written on his face.

“Nothing,” he replied quickly. How could he possibly begin to explain what was up? How could he say that even though Dean was his brother, he felt something more for him? Something _else_? Sam wanted to touch Dean. He wanted to run his hands through his hair and hear him murmur his name in his ear. But he knew it couldn’t happen. They were brothers. ‘Brothers’ was more than a word, it was an element out of Sam’s control, governed by laws, based on scriptures given by God.

“You’re still looking at me funny,” Dean said. “I haven’t got anything on my face again, have I?”

“No, you don’t.”

Besides, even if they weren’t related, Sam knew Dean was straight, through-and-through. He only looked at women, never at men. When it came to Dean and Cas’ special friendship, Sam knew it was purely platonic.

How could Sam ever tell him how he felt?

“Are you going to tell me about the nightmare last night?”

“No,” Sam replied quickly.

They stared at each other for a moment in silence, neither wanting to speak. Sam didn’t want to put his dream into words. To put it into words would make it all too real. Sam felt the breeze from the open door tickling his cheek.

“Well, moving on,” Dean started. “I think I’ve found us a case.”

Sam slowly chewed his food.

“It’s over in a town called Virtue. A guy was murdered and his girlfriend told the police it was a unicorn.”

“A unicorn?”

Dean pulled out a newspaper, and Sam skimmed it. To Sam’s surprise, his brother was right – a woman said she had witnessed the murder, by a white horse with a golden mane and a horn on its forehead. A freaking unicorn, as Dean would probably phrase it.

“She said the unicorn stabbed him over and over, until he keeled over and died,” Dean elaborated.

“But there’s no such thing as unicorns. You’ve said so yourself, Dean.”

“I know. That’s what makes this weird.”

Sam folded the newspaper back up neatly. It sounded to him as if the woman had simply witnessed a normal murder – horrific, yes, but not supernatural – and the trauma had led her to believe that it wasn’t a murderer but a magical creature that had stabbed him repeatedly. Sadly, those sorts of things happened frequently. Human-inflicted crime was a by-product of their broken world, and there was little that could be done about it.

“I don’t think this is our sort of case. I mean-” Sam was about to voice his thoughts, but Dean got in first.

“You didn’t finish reading the article,” he said.

Sam opened it back up and turned to the next page in the paper, where there was a picture.

“Is that…?” Sam started.

There was a black-and-white photo of a spiralling, stick-shaped object which was tapered towards the top. If Sam didn’t know better, he would say it was a unicorn horn. Or possibly a seashell, if he wanted to stay within realm of reality. And sanity.

“The girlfriend said the unicorn stabbed him so violently that its horn broke off. And that horn was what the coroners pulled out of his cold corpse a few hours later.”

Sam shut the paper. “How long does it take to get to Virtue?”


	3. Unicorns Aren't Real

Dean watched the road slip by as he steered the Impala through a straight, empty highway. Sam was rereading that newspaper article for the millionth time. Dean understood. He was confused himself. Unicorns weren’t real. The Winchesters had seen many things on their adventures. Things like Leviathans and dijns and skinwalkers and reapers and even a giant freaking talking teddy-bear. But not once had they seen a unicorn – a real unicorn, that is. They just didn’t exist.

“Unicorns,” Sam said under his breath. He said it so quietly, he probably hadn’t even realised he said it. Sam did it a lot. Probably because they were on their own so often. There was always a lot going on in his brother’s mind, and sometimes the words spilled out from his mind into the world. Sam needed to get out more; he needed some action – something that wasn’t based around chasing covens of witches or hordes of vampires – he needed some action in the bedroom. Was it weird for Dean to be thinking about his brother’s lacking sex life? “Unicorns,” Sam repeated.

Dean smiled. “Maybe down in Hell they thought the Hell hounds looked too scary, and they decided send unicorns instead?”

Sam looked at his brother as if he were mad. “But then they’d be invisible, Dean. The woman wouldn’t have seen it.”

“Invisible unicorns. Unicorns that you can see. The world’s gone mental. What’s your guess?”

“I’m starting to think unicorns are real.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to look at his brother as if he were mad. “Unicorns aren’t real.”

He pulled into a bleak road, and the pair were faced with a neon sign that read ‘Welcome to Virtue’. Sam made a gentle ‘huh’ noise as they passed it.

“What?”

“The sign.”

“What about the sign?” There was no one on the road, so Dean made a dodgy stop and pulled the car into reverse, back up to where the sign was. It was a garish neon sign with the town name. And a logo, if that was the right word. The logo was a picture of a unicorn. It alternated between rearing and going back down onto four legs. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

There was now a car behind him, which was indicated by a loud annoyed driver honking his horn. Dean carried on driving.

As per usual, they headed to the police station to gather some more facts. Sam became Agent Miller and Dean became Agent Williams, both of the CIA.

“The woman’s nuts,” the police detective said. Sam and Dean had just sat down in his office, trying to gather some clues or details, anything that could help.

Detective Inspector Cashew was a shortish man with square-set shoulders which made him look off-balance. He had dark skin and a broad moustache that reminded Dean of a broomstick. He looked like a busy man, not too friendly, or too talkative, and far too busy being a Detective Inspector to network.

The detective was referring to the victim’s girlfriend, Maria Malloy. Dean hadn’t even met her, but since she seemed to think a unicorn murdered her boyfriend, Dean was starting to agree with the DI.

“I’ve come across some dark deeds in my time,” said Detective Inspector Cashew. He had said it more to himself than to Sam and Dean. “But I’ve never heard of someone being stabbed to death by an animal horn before.”

“Any idea what animal?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know why you office boys came down from the CIA. You really think you can help solve this case?! Why don’t you leave it to us big-shots?”

Sam coughed. “Detective Inspector, could you please answer our questions?”

“I’m just saying – this isn’t anything the CIA should worry about. We can handle it down here; we know how. You’re just getting your underqualified hands dirty for nothing.”

“What animal, Inspector Cashew?” Dean prompted again.

Cashew gulped and relented. “The coroners asked an expert zoologist to identify it, and he says he hasn’t got a clue. Ran through a whole list of animals, and said it was like nothing he’d ever seen before.”

“Weird, isn’t it?” Sam said. “Could we possibly see the weapon?”

“Yeah, it’s up at the morgue.”

“And how’s Miss Malloy doing? I think we should interview her to ask if there’s any reason her partner has been murdered. If she’s, you know…”

“She’s nuts,” the detective repeated. “But you office boys won’t discover anything new, I can promise you that.”

He wrote down her contact details grudgingly, and then the duo left. Next stop: The morgue.

They were shown into the cold morgue building quickly by a nameless woman in a generic white-coat. At Sam’s request, she kindly left alone to examine the body. The corpse looked like the usual multiple-stab-wounds kind. Not nice.

“His name was Parvadi West,” Dean said, reading from a clipboard on the table. “Seventeen stab wounds to the chest and stomach. Pfff, that’s a lot! Honestly, you’d think three or four would be enough to take him down. Seventeen is just showing off. Says here the wounds are most likely inflicted by the weapon catalogued.”

The so-called weapon was lying in a dish on the desk. It took a pretty bad criminal to leave the murder weapon at the scene of the crime. Dean picked it up, practised stabbing at the air with it to see what it was like. It was obviously a terrible weapon. It was too awkward to grip, and Dean was quite sure that if he had used it for one stab, it wouldn’t easily come out for a second round. It was almost as if it had been attached to something larger, something that had broken off after the killer had used it – as if it had been attached to a unicorn’s head. But Dean wasn’t going to say it. It sounded stupid. Even if it did fit all the clues: the weapon itself, the eyewitness, the corpse. Unicorns just didn’t exist.

Sam took the weapon from Dean and inspected it closely. “Is this really sharp enough to have killed him?” He looked over at the pale dead guy on the table.

“If you’re a strong guy, I guess so,” Dean replied.

The words remained unspoken: or strong as a wild animal. Like a horse. With a horn.

The last stop of the Virtue Murder Mystery Grand Tour before pizza-o’clock was the girlfriend’s house. Miss Maria Malloy: the woman who had supposedly seen the unicorn killing her boyfriend.

Maria’s house looked like a white-collar house, framed by a little patch of grass and a token tree with three or four leaves. Surprisingly big house for just the two of them – now just her.

“Fancy place,” Dean muttered, ringing the bell. It rang with a gentle chime.

“Miss Malloy?” Sam asked.

The woman poked her nose through the front door. She had cropped blonde hair which hid most of her face. But what Dean could see was the bags under her eyes.

“Yes. What’s it to you?” she replied. Her voice sounded both broken and resilient. Hoarse, no pun intended.

Together, Sam and Dean showed their CIA cards. For the third time that day, they became Agents Miller and Williams. She opened the door slowly with a creak.

“You want to come in?” she said. Dean guessed she was Maria Malloy.

Sam and Dean went in. The house smelled thickly of warm spices. Maria guided them to the living room and offered to get them something to drink. They declined, and sat down on the naff pastel sofa.

“We’re really sorry to drag up such a horrible incident, but we’d like to hear from you about what happened two nights ago,” Sam said. He had his concerned face on, leaning forwards.

“I’ve already given my statement to the police.”

“I know-” Sam began.

Dean interrupted: “-But we’d like to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

Sam gave Dean the look. It wasn’t just _a_ look, it was _the_ look. It was the look that said he shouldn’t have interfered. Particularly not to make a joke about horses, given the matter at hand. Maria looked offended too and Dean hoped he wouldn’t be shown the door.

The tension was interrupted by a cat entering the room with a meow. It was a little white ball of fluff, and headed straight to Sam’s lap. He always was such a pussy magnet.

“What makes you say it was a unicorn?” Dean asked, watching the cat start to lick itself, balanced on Sam’s lap.

“Well, it was big and it was white. And it was gold. And it had a bloody big horn,” she said. “I know how it sounds. I sound mad.”

Nuts. That’s what Detective Cashew called her.

“I didn’t believe in them. But that’s what I saw. A massive, great unicorn,” Maria Malloy said. Her voice cracked on the last word, and Dean wondered if it was time to get the Kleenexes out.

“Did it feel cold at all?” Sam prompted. Seriously? Whatever it was, it wasn’t a ghost. For it to have been a ghost, it would need to have been alive in the first place.

“No,” Maria said. “But it was a unicorn.”

“Did your partner have any enemies at all? Someone who would want him…?” Sam asked. The witch question? Dean had never heard of a witch conjuring up a mythical beast out of thin air. Or at least, not a unicorn.

“No,” she said. “I mean…”

She trailed off. The cat meowed. There was obviously something she was hiding. Dean decided to let Sam get it out of her. He was better at that sort of thing. He loved watching Sam do his people magic.

“You mean…?” Sam prompted.

She gulped and fiddled with her hands in her lap. “I didn’t kill him. I didn’t want him dead. But we were going through a rough patch.”

“How so?” Sam prompted gently.

“He had taken a fancy to an old friend of mine from college. Lola Deltassure. They were…”

“He was screwing your friend?!” Dean interrupted.

Sam coughed, and the cat got up, annoyed that it couldn’t get some sleep. It seems like Sam’s only a pussy magnet for so long before the ladies get fed up with him.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Sam said. “Did Parvadi know that you were aware of their relationship?”

“Yes. I mean, I suspected it for a while, but he told me that night, right after we went for a walk in the woods… He was acting really weird that night after the walk.” Maria was made out of nails. She looked upset, but it wasn’t a tissue moment. Dean imagined that if he had a partner who cheated on him, he wouldn’t be as statue-like as Maria.

“Are you still in contact with your friend?” Sam asked.

“Lola. Her name is Lola. And no, I’m not in contact with her. I can’t forgive her, but I don’t want her dead either, for the record. But I know where she lives, if you want to talk to her.”

Sam nodded. “That would be great, thanks. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened. It sounds horrible.”

She laughed. It wasn’t a happy laugh. “You don’t know anything.”


	4. 22 Dead Street

They got into the Impala and closed the doors. Dean revved the engine.

“You were good in there,” Dean said to Sam.

Sam smiled. “I just didn’t crack bad jokes about horses.”

Dean was thinking of saying something, but held back.

“What?” said Sam.

“You were sexy,” said Dean. His voice was deep and husky. Sam hadn’t seen this side of him before.

Before Sam could think better of it, he leaned across the Impala and kissed Dean on the lips. It was a chaste kiss, closed-lipped and polite, like a thank you for a first date. But with it came so much wrong and so much right. They had never kissed each other like it before. He wondered if Dean would ever let him do it again.

There was a knock, and they sprang apart. Sam saw it was Maria. She had tapped at the window on Dean’s side. Dean rolled down his window. Sam didn’t know if she had seen them, but he knew his face was flushed red with embarrassment at the prospect.

“Miss Malloy!” said Dean instantly with a fake honeyed voice.

“You forgot this, fellows,” she passed Dean a slip of paper. “It’s Lola’s address.”

“Thank you,” Dean said, equally sweetly. He passed the note to Sam to get it out of his way.

Maria left, and they pulled away to go to Lola’s place. Sam waved at her politely.

They didn’t speak for the first few streets. Then Dean plucked up the courage to say something, breaking the mounting tension.

“What’s the address?”

Sam read it out from the paper. He had been clutching it tightly, though he hadn’t even realised it. The paper was now lined with creases.

Dean grunted, and drove to the destination.

“Do you want to talk about-” Sam started.

“Nope,” Dean interrupted. “Let’s just get on with the job at hand. The unicorn. Well, not unicorn. Unicorns aren’t real.”

Sam felt a knot in his stomach. He felt tense and wanted some time to himself to think things through. But Dean was right; the case came first. They had a unicorn to hunt.

The drive took ages. Or perhaps it wasn’t that long, but it just felt that way given the circumstances.

“I can’t believe Dead Street is a real place,” Dean muttered, turning onto the oddly named street. Lola’s address was 22 Dead Street. Sam couldn’t decide whether it was aptly named or not, given that they were about to interview someone about a murder.

 “There it is,” Sam chipped in. It was a much more run-down neighbourhood than that of her friend-slash-enemy.

They knocked on the door, to no avail.

“Are you sure this is the right address?” Dean asked. There was something steely in his voice.

“Yeah,” Sam opened up the crumpled note again. “Look, Dean. I know you said-”

Just then, the door swung open. A woman stepped into view. She had a much more commanding presence than Maria, and there was something uncaring about her manner. Sam took a slight dislike to her, but couldn’t quite explain why. But it didn’t matter what Sam thought of Lola’s personality, he needed facts to figure out what killed her lover.

“Lola Deltassure?” Dean said. Her name was on the paper.

“Yes,” she said. She had a quite breathy voice.

The brothers pulled out their cards. Agents Miller, Agent Williams.

“We’d like to interview you about your connection with Parvadi West. Can we come in?” Sam asked.

She nodded. While her back was turned, Dean mouthed a quick ‘wow’ at Sam. Sam looked at her, trying to see what Dean was seeing. She was skinny as a runt with snaking tendrils of hair reaching down her undersized back and stopping at her tapered hips. Most likely in her mid-thirties, a bit older than Maria Malloy, Lola had dark, lipstick lips and eyeliner eyes. She was wearing a black dress which ran to her knees, and had matching high heels.

“I can see what Parvadi liked about her!” Dean muttered, when she was out of earshot. His breath caressed Sam’s ear.

Sam rolled his eyes. They weren’t here to check people out; they were here to solve a murder.

Lola led them to living room. It was a nice open space full of sleek black-plastic sculptures and furniture. But it didn’t feel homely in the slightest. There was a bookcase in the corner of the room, next to an empty hearth. There were big windows with black frames looking out over the front side, towards the greyish grass of the front garden and the brown bricks of neighbouring buildings.

They sat down.

“You knew Parvadi, right?” said Dean. He was down to business now, focused like a wolf stalking its prey. Sam liked Dean in this mode.

“Yes, we knew each other,” she replied stiffly. She knew him in the Biblical sense. It was hard to discuss out in the open.

“What was your relationship like?” Sam asked, before Dean could say something regrettable that would make her clam up.

“My friend introduced us. They were dating, and we became friends.”

“A little more than friends, I heard,” Dean muttered, loudly. Sam wanted to hit him.

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Agent Miller. Or was it Williams?”

“I’m Agent Miller,” said Dean. Sam tried not to show any visible sign of his inward screaming. Dean was Agent Williams, Sam was Miller. Dean had got it the wrong way around. Sam tensed.

“And you’re Williams?” she asked Sam.

“Yes,” Sam nodded, trying to play along with Dean’s mistake. He sincerely hoped Lola wouldn’t notice the slip-up. “So how well did you and Mr West know each other?”

“What did Maria tell you?”

“She said you were having an affair with her boyfriend,” Dean said bluntly. There was no beating around the bush. Sam didn’t correct him on his mistake – affairs only apply to marriages.

She hesitated, and then Sam saw her shoulders slump. “It’s true. I don’t feel ashamed about it, though Parvadi did. But he loved Maria and wasn’t going to break it off with her. But he wasn’t going to break it off with me, either.”

Until he died, Sam thought silently. The entire matter felt like a very human problem, with no supernatural involvement. They had established that the victim had cheated on his partner, but what now? How could that relate to the murder? He didn’t believe Maria had done it, since even knowing the truth about her partner, she appeared too honest. And it wouldn’t make sense for Lola to do it since they were bedfellows.

“And you’ve read the newspaper article about it?” Dean probed.

“Yes. I don’t know what to think about it. I can’t believe he’s dead, we had so much unfinished business…” she said. Sam saw Dean raise an eyebrow, as he mulled over what exactly their business entailed.

Dean leaned forward. “Who do you think killed him?”

“Well, the paper said it was a unicorn.”

“I’m asking you.”

“I think it was a unicorn,” she breathed. “I’ve seen it.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

“When?”

“Just after Parvadi- after Parvadi died. I was walking down the street in the dark and I saw it and it starts chasing me down the road. I lock the door and it doesn’t follow. And I haven’t seen it since.”

Dean looked incredulous. It was hard to swallow the idea of a unicorn.

“Is there any reason why anyone – other than Maria – would want to harm you?”

Just then, the window smashed. Sam and Dean stood and had their guns at the ready even before the shards finished hitting the ground. Lola was screaming, not words, simply noise.

Sam heard another sound over the primal din. It sounded like a horse neighing.

The air cleared, and Sam saw what had smashed the window. It wasn’t a horse, it had one too many horns to be a horse.

“Is that?” Dean said in wonder. He didn’t have time to specify what exactly it was, because the creature neighed a battle cry and stormed into the house. They shot at it. Sam didn’t know who shot it first, but they emptied their guns into the beast. But it didn’t stop coming.

Sam guided Lola out and shadowed her to the kitchen as a guard, while Dean sent more bullets flying.

“Sammy! I don’t think this is a normal horse!” he shouted gruffly, then appeared at the door of the kitchen. His gun clicked empty, but there weren’t enough bullets in the world to stop that creature. It was undoubtedly supernatural.

“Dean!” Sam shouted. He could hear his quick-paced breathing alongside Lola’s and Dean’s.

“What?” Dean turned, his voice matching Sam’s. Dean pulled the kitchen table across to barricade the door.

“The unicorn that killed Parvadi – it lost its horn in the process.”

“Sam, now isn’t the time to think about the biology of this- this…” Dean obviously didn’t want to say the word unicorn. Even with the evidence in front of his eyes, it was too much for him.

“That’s not what I mean. I mean, I don’t imagine they can grow horns back within two days. I think this is a different-”

The kitchen window smashed. Sam saw a hoof appear, then saw the creature’s elongated nose and savage eyes. It was a unicorn, but where its horn should be was a broken-off stump.

“Sammy, I hate it when you’re right.”

There were now two unicorns. The one with the horn was trapped in the corridor, trying to pierce its way through the door, and the one that was currently shattering the kitchen window with intellectual precision.

“Through the door!” Dean commanded. They rushed through the door that was next to the kitchen counter, heading into the garden. Sam shot at the hornless unicorn a few token times, but it just seemed to make it angrier. Sam and Dean herded Lola into the Impala, and Dean drove off, leaving the pair of unicorns chasing the car down the mean-looking Dead Street. It was futile. Car trumped unicorn.


	5. Talking About It

“Dean, I think we’ve got a problem,” Sam said.

Dean checked his rear-mirror, hoping those bastard unicorns weren’t coming back for a second round. He couldn’t see anything, just hostile tarmac.

“Lola,” Sam said. Dean looked round. Sam and Lola were both sat in the back, in the scramble to get out of the house. Lola was slumped around Sam, and Dean could see her dress was cut under her right-side ribs, showing a dark red gash in her skin. Damn that unicorn was vicious.

“Is she…?”

“She’s breathing. I think we need to take her to hospital. I’m worried she’s got internal bleeding because of where the cut is.”

Lola groaned. At least she was still alive. And conscious.

Dean followed the glowing signs towards the hospital. It looked like it was kind of long. But on the plus side, they were probably safe there. Whatever happened, those animals were gone. They were animals, he refused to call them unicorns.

Dean sped to the hospital, and they dropped off Lola. They justified it as a wild animal attack, which was pretty much true. The doctors said that she had lost a lot of blood, but she was likely to recover. No organs were touched, just skin damage. But Dean was glad that Sam decided to bring her to hospital. She probably wouldn’t have made it if they had brought her to the hotel. They didn’t exactly have any blood bags lying around for emergencies like this.

They apologised to Lola while they still could, and then left the hospital, promising to contact her later with news.

The ride home was silent. The adrenaline from the fight had worn off now, and Dean wanted to go home. He wanted to hear what Sam had to say about those animals, and why they had killed that guy, and now tried to kill the girl he was sleeping with. Why couldn’t it be a ghost? They weren’t half as complex as this.

Dean pulled the Impala into the hotel parking lot. He caught Sam’s gaze. Sam smiled at him nervously, which brought the memory back about earlier that day. The one where Sam had kissed him. He didn’t know which was more unexpected: unicorns being real or Dean finding out that Sam had a crush on him. The thought made his heart beat faster.

Sam unlocked the hotel door, closed it.

“Now are we going to talk about what happened?” Sam said.

Dean grabbed a bottle of some amber-coloured booze and poured himself a generous glass. “What happened was that there are murderous unicorns on the loose trying to kill people. Oh, and bullets don’t stop them.”

Sam’s face wavered. “That’s not what I meant. I meant the kiss.”

Dean didn’t say anything. He downed his drink in one.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking,” Sam said. He looked on the verge of tears. “I-I-”

Dean slid off the table and approached Sam. He took a moment to breathe in his scent, of bullets and books. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. He took Sam’s face in his hand and turned him so they were facing each other. “I liked it.”

Sam looked up and their eyes locked. “You mean it?”

“I know there are so many reasons why we shouldn’t. But I don’t care,” Dean said. “I want to kiss you again, Sammy.”

Their lips met. It felt like an equal share of action, where they were both in control. It was hot and it was wet, and he heard Sam groan into his mouth. They had travelled together for so long, and he’d never heard Sam make a noise like that before. He was surprised by how much of a turn on it was.

Dean felt Sam’s hands wander under his shirt. His touch sent chills down his spine. “Sammy,” Dean murmured, turning his head to the side to breathe. He could take down a vampire without breaking a sweat, but a simple kiss had made him pant like a running dog.

He felt Sam’s breath on his cheek, just as fast as his. Sam’s hands stopped dancing around Dean’s chest and headed south. Dean grabbed his wrist. “Are you sure you want to…?”

Sam looked at him with wide eyes. They couldn’t turn back now, if they wanted to. But neither of them did want to turn back. They wanted to go forwards, breaking new territory. They wanted to explore this strange new land together.

“Yes, yes I want to,” Sam replied. He loosened Dean’s belt.

Dean watched him in awe as Sam went down on his knees in front of him. Sam pulled Dean’s jeans steadily down until they were around his ankles. His tight black boxers followed a moment later. Dean stood in front of Sam feeling exposed. He wouldn’t have felt more exposed had he been standing in the middle of a den of vampires.

Sam didn’t say anything, and Dean couldn’t feel his touch. He looked down.

“Your cock is so big, Dean,” Sam said, looking up at him with a greedy expression. His cock twitched, as if happy at the praise. It only added to Dean’s sense of shame.

Only then did Dean feel Sam’s caress. It was gentle at first, just a faint stroke around his thighs and lower back, before Sam moved his focus to Dean’s cock. He held it between his hands and pumped, slowly first, then more and more. It wasn’t long before it was rock-hard. Dean was embarrassed at first, watching his little brother find his way around his body. But when Sam licked his cock, all his uneasiness disappeared. Dean groaned.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Sam purred, his hands working steadily.

Dean hadn’t been thinking of anything. His body was filled with the sensation of lust. There wasn’t room for language. Only the feeling of Sam on Dean.

“I’m thinking if you don’t stop, I’m going to cum all over your face,” Dean groaned, managing to find the words and voice them.

“That would be terrible, wouldn’t it?” Sam said with a wink.

Dean was going to reply, but Sam licked his cock again and all words left Dean’s mind. Dean put his hands in Sam’s hair, urging him to keep Dean in his mouth.

“Go on Sammy. Put it all in,” he said with a wobble, finding his voice. Kind of.

Sam did. It felt wet and good. Really good. Dean thrust deep a few times, feeling Sam’s tongue curve underneath his length.

“Faster,” Dean said. He didn’t know whether Sam heard, or whether it dissolved into an animal grunt.

Sam took Dean’s cock out of his mouth and started rubbing up and down, twisting his hand around. It was slick with his spit.

He felt himself rising, losing contact with the world.

“Cum for me, Dean,” Sam urged.

Dean let go. The world shattered into a billion fragments. A million billion fragments.

Then it returned. He returned. Dean looked at Sam’s face, which was streaked with his sticky white cum. Sam smiled, and Dean felt embarrassed again. The whole blowjob seemed like a very one-sided experience: Sam giving, Dean taking. He promised to himself that at the first opportunity he would show Sam just how giving he could be.

Dean crouched down next to Sam and wiped some of the gunk off his face. He kissed him passionately. Sam tasted of hot salt. Dean touched Sam’s warm back gently, then put his hands under his shirt.

Sam stood up. “Another time, I think.”

Dean followed him up, slightly surprised at how quickly Sam had changed. “Why?”

“We’ve got a unicorn to hunt.”


	6. Research

_Fire. Torment. Lucifer. Lucifer laughed and the sound echoed across realities. It was a laugh of triumph at Sam’s expense; a statement that he owned Sam. Sam had ceased to be human and had instead become Lucifer’s property._

_They had shared a body once. “And now,” Lucifer laughed. “Now your mind is mine.”_

“Sam!” shouted a voice. It wasn’t Lucifer’s, but Sam couldn’t figure out whose voice it was. There! It called out again. It was a deep voice that cracked with concern, and it called out over and over. Then once more for good measure.

“Dean!” Sam shouted back, realising whose voice it was. His vocal cords felt constrained, and his body felt like he had surfaced from being underwater for too long. “What happened?”

“You were screaming out in your sleep,” Dean said. He was sitting on the side of Sam’s bed. He looked around his shoulder. “I hope it didn’t wake anyone else up in this hotel.”

Sam sat up woozily and gathered his thoughts. “If your moans during that blowjob didn’t wake them up, I don’t think anything will.”

Dean went red.

“I had that dream again,” Sam said, after Dean didn’t speak.

“What happened?”

This time, Sam didn’t speak. He didn’t feel able to phrase it in words. Nothing could convey the experience – the feeling of burning alive, of degradation. The feeling of Lucifer.

“You know, it’s probably good for you to talk about it. You always want to talk things through,” Dean said. Sam was reminded of the kiss the day before – or possibly the same day, depending on the time now. Not the kiss itself, but Sam’s desire to discuss it and Dean’s desire to pretend it never happened. Now their roles were switched.

“Not this time,” Sam said miserably.

Dean looked offended.

“Sorry, it’s not you. I just… I can’t,” Sam said. Words were usually his strong point, but now he faltered.

Sam gave Dean a quick peck by way of apology, but Dean turned his head.

“We shared well, _that_ together, but now you won’t even tell me about a stupid dream?” Dean said angrily.

Sam didn’t know what to say. “I’m really sorry. Sorry...” Sam tried to kiss him again, but Dean stood up and looked out the window by way of distraction. Sam could see that it was already early morning, and a purplish gloom spread across the sky. He didn’t want to go back to sleep in case the dreams came back. And it looked like Dean wasn’t up for any fun. So he booted up his laptop and started digging into unicorn lore.

Dean busied himself doing nothing.

Most of what Sam found was useless details. As far as supernatural beasts went, unicorns were popular. Reality had blurred into fiction; though just how real unicorns were in the first place seemed up for debate. Sam couldn’t believe he had seen a unicorn. Two of them. And he couldn’t believe they had tried to kill him.

“Found anything?” Dean asked. He hadn’t entirely forgiven Sam, but he was putting the job first in true hunter fashion.

“Not much. I’m going to keep digging.” Sam hoped something would turn up.

“You do what you want. I’m going to grab some food.”

Sam kept searching. He found some scanned-in pages of a medieval bestiary online and looked for unicorns.

Thoughts about Dean kept flooding his mind. Present fight aside, he couldn’t believe Dean felt about Sam the way Sam felt about him. The kiss yesterday had been magical. And when they had taken it a step further it was perfect. He supposed he had romantic notions, because he wanted more. He wanted to pick up where they left off, but this unicorn business was all in the way. But soon…

Sam tried to focus. Unicorns. Not Dean, unicorns.


	7. Broken Glass

Dean’s first stop wasn’t for a breakfast wrap. Or pancakes. Or even waffles. He went to visit Lola in the hospital. Dean didn’t know why he didn’t want to tell Sam that he was going to visit her. But he was too busy working away, trying to dig up anything useful about unicorn myths and legends. Dean knew there must be something local on it – something to do with the town’s symbol of a unicorn and the animals they had seen yesterday. But he had no idea what. Whatever those things were, it couldn’t have been unicorns.

Dean parked by the hospital and asked at reception where she was. He received a reply, and headed up to her room. She was sitting on the side of her bed, talking to a doctor. Dean waited in the doorway to give them privacy. She looked okay, as if she hadn’t been chased in her house yesterday by a giant animal. Or two. Dean imagined she would have a bandage around her stomach since that’s where the thing had scraped its horn against her. But he obviously couldn’t see that under her shirt. There were one or two shallow cuts on her arms. They had been cleaned in the hospital, and looked like they’d heal up okay. Lola had been lucky. Yesterday could have ended a lot worse.

He did wonder why the unicorn had gone after Lola and hadn’t done any harm at all to Sam or Dean.

“Dean!” she shouted eagerly, spotting him hovering. The doctor looked up. “They say I can go home now.”

The doctor nodded. “You’ll need to come back Thursday so we can check it’s healing up as we expect, and to rebandage it. But otherwise, you’re good to go.” He left the room.

Lola smiled. Dean smiled back.

“Need a ride home?” Dean asked.

Lola nodded.

Together, they left the hospital and stepped into the Impala. Lola tried to ask Dean about what happened yesterday and ask if she was still at risk. But Dean didn’t know what to say so he mostly kept silent. He needed some more info from Sam before he could judge. But he did think the things would come back.

They reached the house. She had her keys on her, although they could have gotten in through the smashed window if she hadn’t. They were greeted by a sea of broken glass. The rooms were all cold from the exposure.

Lola saw a hoofprint on the black rug in the hallway. Dean could see emotion bristle through her. It was strange to think a horse had caused that, let alone a unicorn.

Dean grabbed a tea towel and started picking up broken shards. Lola used a broom to try to sweep everything together to make it easier to clean up. Dean wouldn’t let her work too hard, considering she was hurt. Together, they spent at least an hour trying to put everything back into some sort of order.

Lola made them something to drink – not tea, no, this needed something a bit stronger – and Dean boarded up the windows using some nails and planks he found in the shed. It wasn’t ideal, but it should keep the draft out until she could replace them.

Finally, they sat.

“You keep avoiding my questions,” Lola said.

Dean turned to her. “What do you want me to say?”

“What were those creatures yesterday?”

“They looked like unicorns. But unicorns aren’t real.” He didn’t want to tell her about the other things – that ghosts, shapeshifters and a whole list of other things were real. He didn’t want to trouble her with those things.

“So what were they then?”

“I don’t know,” said Dean. “But my brother’s working on it.”

She put her whiskey glass back on the table. The table was now sparkling clean. Just like the floors and walls and everything in the house. “You’re not really CIA, are you?”

“No,” said Dean simply.

“I pretty much figured that out when you got your name wrong when I first met you, yesterday. Yesterday feels like so much longer ago,” Lola said, her voice drifting. “But who are you?”

“Dean.” What else could he say? He was a hunter, written about by prophets, chosen by angels, he’d been to Hell and back, fought creatures that were stuff of legends – but at the end of the day, he was Dean. Everything boiled down to that one simple name. Four little letters. That is who he was. Dean.

“Nice to meet you, Dean,” Lola said.

Apparently his name was enough for her. She licked her dark lips, and then sprung to him with a puma-like pounce. Dean was puzzled for a moment.

Lola kissed him. It was a strong and passionate kiss, a kiss of everything that was pent-up between them. An outlet.

Dean made a noise that sounded a little like a protest. When Lola didn’t respond, he pulled away.

“What?” Lola asked. Her eyes were wide. Flirtatious. “What’s wrong?”

“I- you,” Dean rubbed his face, trying to think. He moaned in frustration. “We can’t. We shouldn’t. Your boyfriend died, literally three days ago. You can’t go kissing me.” And he didn’t know where he stood with Sam. Were they together? Was that even possible? Or was their relationship open? Was it even a relationship with Sam?

“He wasn’t exactly my boyfriend,” she said. She moved to straddle his hips. Dean knew he should shrug her off, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t stop her, and instead put his hands on her outer thighs, pinning her in place. “We had a rather… casual relationship.”

“One of those friends with benefits deals?” Dean said intrigued. There was something tempting about the idea. But those sorts of things were bound to get complicated – which is exactly what happened between Lola, her lover and his girlfriend. And two freaking unicorns.

She moved in to kiss him again. Dean kept it short.

“And where does that leave us?” Dean asked. Something told him it was better to ask before anything happened between them. As he probably should have done with Sam. Getting a blowjob from Sam hours earlier that morning had gotten rather steamy. Thinking back to it was quite a turn-on now.

“It leaves us with the rest of the day. If you want to that is.”

Dean did want to. Yes, they were both balls-deep in romantic messes, but they were consenting adults. If he wanted to, and she wanted to, why shouldn’t they?

Dean swept his hands from Lola’s outer thighs more inwards, and higher up. Some questions didn’t need to be answered with words.

She gasped. Dean felt her hands softly clasped against his back, keeping them pressed against each other. He would be careful with her, Dean mused, fingering the hospital band around her slender wrist. He brought his lips to hers and felt her tongue running across his teeth in an expert action. She knew exactly what she was doing, and that was precisely how Dean liked it.

Lola pulled away. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That noise?”

“What noise?”

“It sounded like a snicker.”

“A snicker?” asked Dean. He hoped he hadn’t made some incredibly unsexy noise that sounded like he was laughing at her.

“Like a horse,” Lola explained. A shadow crossed over Dean’s mind. A horse, a horse or a unicorn. Lola seemed to have the same thought at exactly the same moment.

“I’m going to check the house,” Dean said. He made to stand up and Lola clambered from his lap. Their plans for the day would have to wait. “You stay here. Call if you see anything.”

Dean drew his loaded gun, nodded at her and then left the room. He checked every room, every window – boarded up or glass. He heard it. A neigh in the day. Dean followed it. It sounded like it was coming from outside. He opened the door for the garden, and peered into the raining but sunny day.

Dean saw it. Gold and white in the distance by the trees. And it saw him. The unicorn charged, and Dean emptied his gun into it. The beast hesitated.

The unicorn stopped completely a couple metres away and stared at Dean. He was dumbstruck. It was the one with the broken horn. The one that killed that man.

It looked amazing though, like something out of a magazine, with pure white fur – was fur the word? – and a mane that looked not yellow, but pure gold. The beast snickered and raised its head. Then it turned around so Dean faced its tail. It kicked the dirt a few times with its back leg, and Dean saw a horseshoe fall off. The horseshoe hit the ground with a clatter. The unicorn then padded away, into the trees.

Dean stared for a moment, and then went to the horseshoe. He picked it up. He didn’t know anything about horseshoes, let alone unicornshoes, but this one looked rather normal to him. Maybe Sam would know.

“Is everything alright?” Lola called. She was standing nervously in the doorway.

“It looks like it,” Dean said. He tucked the horseshoe away and headed back inside. Something told him that he wasn’t going to get it back on with Lola. The unicorn had ruined his plans. “But I think I’ve got to go.”


	8. Lucky Guess

Dean stormed in, coated with a thin film of rain. Sam wanted to tell him everything he’d found out about unicorns since they woke up, but Dean looked like he was in a mood. It would have to wait.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked.

Dean paced for a moment, then he ran his hand over his face and finally sat down opposite Sam. Sam stayed silent all the while, watching his brother. Dean finally pulled something out of his coat pocket and put it on the table. A few flecks of water fell from his sleeve, landing next to it.

Sam looked at it. It was curved and made from strong but malleable metal, most likely iron; unmistakably a horseshoe.

“Where did you get this?” Sam asked. He picked it up and looked at it under the white glow of his laptop.

“I ran into the unicorn at Lola’s place,” Dean answered.

Sam looked up. A wave of emotion – something unnameable but strong – ran through him. He pushed it to one side. “And this was from the unicorn?”

“Yeah, it was about to gut me, then stopped and left this for me. Then it disappeared into the trees.”

Sam had come across something similar in his research. It certainly wasn’t good news.

“You’ve got your concerned face on, Sammy.”

“This is definitely from the unicorn?”

“Yup. It was meant for me. Do you know anything about this?”

Sam pulled up a page on his laptop and turned the screen so Dean could see. “I’ve done more research on unicorns. So they’ve been seen in Virtue before. Unicorns are often associated with virgins and virginity-”

Dean snorted. “So why are they chasing after Lola? And me? I’m not a virgin, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “And I think this idea stems from older texts which connect them with ‘innocent sexuality’ – virginity amongst the unmarried, monogamy amongst the wed.”

“So you’re saying these unicorns don’t like them because they’re unmarried people who screw each other? They’re definitely not cut out for the twenty-first century.”

Sam fiddled with the horseshoe. “And I read about one thing mentioning their shoes. Here,” Sam took his laptop back and tried to find the page. He couldn’t find it again, seeing as the internet was a vast place and that page was infinitesimally small. He couldn’t remember quite what it was, but he was certain that it wasn’t good news.

Dean stood up and went to the minifridge. Sam wanted to tell him that he had phoned up pretty much every hunter they knew and not one of them had heard of unicorns. But he was too busy eating overpriced chilled chocolate. Sam suspected that they weren’t dealing with unicorns, but with something posing as the well-known mythical beasts.

“How do we kill them?” asked Dean through a mouthful of Mars bar.

“Kill them? We shouldn’t kill them.”

Dean was about to protest, but then his phone went off. He reached into his pocket, and finding it wasn’t there, hunted around the dinky hotel room. It was next to his bed. Dean picked it up.

“Hello, Agent Williams speaking,” Dean said. Sam couldn’t hear who was on the other side. “Uh huh. Oh. Okay. We’ll be right there. Thanks for the call.” Dean hung up.

“Who was it?”

“Some guy at the station, calling on behalf of DI Cashew. Says Maria Malloy was just discovered dead in her house.”

Sam stood and packed his things. “Let me guess – multiple stab wounds?”

“Yup.”

“Lucky guess.”

“Not so lucky for her.”


	9. Maria Malloy's House

It was just as horrible a scene as Dean imagined. Maria was lying face-up on the dark-oak floor in her kitchen. There were smears of blood surrounding her, like she’d tried to make a snow angel. Except with blood. Then there was her stomach. It was dotted with wide holes filled with darker blood – stab wounds. Definitely from the unicorn that still had a horn. Complete bastard.

“Gosh,” Sam said. The police photographer nodded in agreement and finished up. Sam asked the Detective Inspector a few questions, but Dean looked at the body.

The wounds matched the wounds on the boyfriend, Parvadi West. They were deep and big and bloody. It must have hurt. Dean felt rather sorry for her. He had talked to her only yesterday, and while she seemed slightly cold and distant, she didn’t deserve to die so horribly. Dean wanted revenge. He wanted to take down the unicorns before they could attack anyone else. He and Sam should have realised the unicorn would come after her, and they should have been there to protect her. Bullets might not work, but something was bound to be able to stop them.

Sam coughed, and Dean looked over. The police were still looking for clues, but there wasn’t a weapon here, or a note, or anything that could help them. There wasn’t even a golden hair left by the murderer. Those unicorns were crafty assholes.

“Why would they… What’s she ever done to them?” Dean asked Sam in a murmur to stop the police overhearing.

“I think I know,” Sam answered. He watched the police file out the room before he dared to discuss the unicorns. “The unicorns value chastity. And from their point of view, she was unmarried and, uh, active.”

Dean smiled at Sam’s modesty. To Sam, sex was a dirty word. But then he glimpsed Maria’s blood-smeared corpse and his humour evaporated.

“I think Parvadi must have done something to be pursued by a unicorn. Maybe they had a run-in in the woods the night of his death. And now it’s killing its way through everyone he’s had a relationship with.”

“So first Maria, and next, Lola.”

“And once Lola is dead, that should be the end of the murders. Unless we can stop them before.”

Dean gulped. He realised he had a relationship – to use Sam’s word – with Lola. “So what about anyone Lola’s interested in?”

Sam looked over from the corpse at Dean. “The man she’s been sleeping with died three days ago. I hardly think she’s in a relationship already.”

“Not a boyfriend. But just something casual.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. Damn. He’d figured it out. “Did you sleep with her?”

“No!” Dean replied. “I mean, we were about to, but… We kissed, okay?”

Sam looked insulted. Then angry. Then murderous. And then back to insulted. “I thought we…?”

“I wasn’t sure. I’m sorry. I wanted to discuss it with you if it was okay, but I never had the chance.”

Dean’s words didn’t seem to have any effect on Sam. He knew it was a douchy thing to do.

“I’m sorry,” Dean apologised again.

“You know what? It doesn’t matter. There can’t be anything between us anyway, since we’re brothers. I was too romantic to see that.”

“Sammy-”

“Don’t ‘Sammy’ me!”

“I-” Dean began, but the nutty Cashew returned, and they stopped talking. The three of them stared at the corpse in uncomfortable silence.

Eventually Sam spoke. “I think we’re done here.”

They left for the Impala, without a word.

Once the door closed, Dean decided on what words were best. “I messed up. I should have asked you and I’m sorry. I still want to return that favour from the other day.”

“What favour?” Sam looked at his big brother.

“The one where I suck you off.”

Dean could see the conflict in Sam’s eyes. After what felt like an age, one side won the battle. Sam leaned across and pecked Dean’s cheek. He knew he was forgiven. But he still felt horrible, like he’d betrayed him, but something of the terrible knot loosened in knowing that Sam wasn’t angry.

Sam reached into his pocket and Dean wondered what he was after. After a bit of rustling around, Sam pulled out the metal hoof Dean had found.

“What?” Dean asked.

“It’s vibrating.”

Dean put his hand on it. Yep, it was vibrating alright. Sam twisted round.

“It’s vibrating more in that direction than that one,” Sam said. “I think we need to talk about where we stand with… us. But first, I think we need to hunt for unicorns.”

They got out of the Impala which they had climbed into a few moments ago. Sam turned a circle, and started walking off in a direction.

Dean quickly went into the boot and searched around for a weapon that looked like it could take out a unicorn. He settled for a knife and a gun with iron, salted bullets.

Dean followed Sam, guessing they were following the vibrating horseshoe. This was turning out to be a weird day.

The magical shoe led them down the road, then into the dense layer of pine trees. Dean groaned as the path got muddy and slippery. His feet got wet when they walked through a shallow river. This better be worth it. His hands got scratched as they went through bushes, and he was bitten by some sort of flying insect which made his neck itch like mad. After about a quarter of an hour, he felt annoyed and tired, and wanted to go back to the hotel.

Sam stopped, and Dean bumped into him, then stopped too. They were somewhere in the woods, with trees in every direction.

“What?” Dean asked.

Sam pointed. Dean followed his finger to something near one of the pine trees. He didn’t think it was a unicorn. But it was glowing white and making a strange crackling noise like a log fire. Dean handed Sam the knife, and took the lead with the gun. It wasn’t an animal, that much was clear.

“I think…” Sam said, and trailed off.

“It looks like one of those things from when Jack ripped open the universe…” Dean supplied.

“It’s a wormhole.”


	10. The Land of the Unicorns

They looked at each other for a brief moment, and headed into the void together. First there was blinding white light, like in the dentist’s chair. The horseshoe had stopped vibrating and Sam tucked it back into his pocket. The white light was followed by a strange sensation of weightlessness, before Sam’s feet touched soft vegetation. Sam looked down to see grass. Then he looked up.

“Wow,” Dean exhaled quietly.

It was definitely the right word to describe it. In the middle distance was a grand oak tree in the centre of a field, and underneath were a herd of unicorns.

“There must be fifty of them!” Sam said in a loud whisper.

“The Land of the Unicorns,” Dean muttered.

All of them were proud creatures, like horses, but with a supernatural elegance. Some were chewing the verdant grass, others were grooming each other contentedly. One or two were sleeping under the shade of the plentiful tree. The atmosphere felt so much more beatific and positive than the cold, wet turf of Virtue.

“Aww, look at that one,” Sam said. He pointed to a unicorn foal which had a fuzzy greyish coat and a horn that was just starting to grow. It tried to run around, but looked uncoordinated and adorable.

Dean didn’t say anything. Sam didn’t know whether his brother intended to frolic with them or shoot them all on the spot. It was a small mercy that guns didn’t seem to affect the poor creatures.

“You’re so soppy,” Dean grunted.

Sam watched a unicorn rear in an attempt to reach an oak leaf with its tongue. It was chilling to think that another unicorn had used those same magnificent hooves to smash a window. And those same magnificent horns to murder.

“Look at the balls on that beast!” Dean said in admiration. The rearing unicorn’s underside was exposed to them in its – his – quest to eat the leaves.

“Dean!” Sam scolded. “Unicorns are majestic and beautiful creatures. You shouldn’t be checking out their balls!”

Dean obviously couldn’t hold back a snigger.

Sam decided to change the subject. “I guess that solves the mystery. Unicorns don’t exist – or at least, not in our world. But they do in this world. And this world and the town of Virtue are likely linked, hence the unicorn on the town crest.”

Sam followed the unicorn foal with his eyes. It sneezed with an unapologetic whoosh, which made Sam feel surprisingly happy.

Sam continued: “Something must have caused a crack in the fabric of reality, creating a collision between our world and the land of the unicorns. And two confused unicorns stumbled through from this world into ours.”

“Hrumph,” said Dean. “So we need to fix the crack before any more of these big-balled beasts walk through and try to stab everyone who has premarital sex. Which is like, nearly everyone in America.”

“But first, we need to bring our two unicorns home.”

“And how do you plan on that? They want to kill me. And probably you.”

“Maybe we need to bait them and outrun them, then close the door.”

“I think they’re too quick for us.”

Sam thought for a moment. “Maybe we could give that unicorn its horn back. And then they would understand we don’t want to harm them.”

“I don’t think they’re clever enough for that. And besides, I don’t think it’s a good idea to give it back its best weapon.”

Sam disagreed. He stepped back through the door, with Dean following. Back into their world.

The grass left their feet and was replaced with the broken twigs and mud of their world. Sam felt the horseshoe start vibrating in his pocket again.

“So what now?” Dean asked.

“So now find some way of closing this wormhole. And get that unicorn its horn back.”

“Easy.”

Sam didn’t agree with his brother on this point either, but between the two of them, they came up with a plan. It was simple and complex at the same time: Sam would research about how to close the portal, and Dean would steal the unicorn horn. Hopefully before the stranded unicorns decide to kill Lola or Dean.


	11. A New Murder Weapon

Detective Inspector Cashew wasn’t too happy to see Dean again. He was annoyed that they didn’t have any leads for the murder case. And that the office boy was still sticking his nose into other people’s business, as Cashew phrased it.

“I tried talking to that woman again – Maria Malloy,” Cashew said. “But she’s nuts.”

Dean nodded in agreement. Maria didn’t seem so nuts to him though. She seemed odd, but in the grand scheme of oddness, Maria ranked rather low.

He didn’t have much of a plan for stealing the horn. He was starting to think maybe it would have worked better if Sam were here. Then Sam could distract the detective, and Dean could look for the horn. But here he was, multitasking.

“No murder weapon was found this time?” Dean asked, trying not to look to obvious in his sweeping the room. The Detective Inspector’s office was a messy little corner room with files and photos and loose paper pretty much everywhere. But Dean didn’t think the horn would be here. There was a door in the corner, leading to a walk-in cupboard. That looked like a much more likely place to store the evidence.

“Nothing. Not even a hair. I was half expecting to find a pile or glitter or summat, since everyone seems to think it’s a damn unicorn.”

Dean forced a laugh. “Yeah. Unicorns don’t exist,” he said. Dean knew that only two days ago he thought people who believed in unicorns were, well, nuts. But now he knew the truth. The crazy, mad truth. They did exist, but they weren’t meant to exist in this world. Maybe there were other worlds with things just as crazy as unicorns – imagine a world of people made from ketchup or talking hippos or transformers that kept humans as pets. They didn’t exist, did they?

“Just some whack-job murderer,” Detective Inspector Cashew said.

“Someone nuts,” Dean added.

“Now you’re getting it,” he replied.

A Police Constable knocked briefly on the door, and Cashew commanded him to enter.

“That call from the CIA has come through,” the nervous Constable announced.

Cashew stood. “But I’m with the CIA now,” he indicated Dean. “Have you kept them updated?” he asked Dean.

“Nope,” Dean said. He wanted to laugh, but then realised that he could easily be rumbled for his pretending to be CIA. And he was already in a police station, so arresting him would be easy. “I wanted to gather more facts before reporting back,” he lied smoothly.

The Detective Inspector made a neutral ‘hmm’ noise and then went to answer the call in the other room, leaving Dean alone in the office.

Dean felt the door snap shut and exhaled in relief. He needed to act quickly – find the horn, get out of the station. And do that before Cashew realised Dean wasn’t really Agent Williams of the CIA. Dean swept the desk frantically. Then moved on to search the drawers, then the filing cabinet. There was only paper. Crisp, useless paper.

Dean turned towards the walk-in cupboard. The horn wasn’t in the office, so it must be in the cupboard.

Dean opened the door. Or he tried to, but it wouldn’t open. He inspected the handle. Right next to it was a code panel with the digits from zero to nine. Dean swore. There was no chance he could work out a code before Cashew would return. Where was Sam when Dean needed him?

Dean tried to think for a minute. He bent down slightly and looked up at the code panel. This office was used mainly by Cashew, but probably also the other police officers. So the code must be easy to remember. 1-2-3-4 would be easy to remember. Or 1-1-1-1. Or 4-3-2-1. There must be thousands of combinations. And then who’s to say it’s four digits? It could be three or five. Anything was possible. He didn’t have time to guess.

Looking at the code panel, he tried to work out which numbers were smudged with fingerprints. He felt like a true detective when he realised that two numbers were particularly greased up.

9-1-1.

The door clicked open.

Silently, Dean thanked the police department for their sweaty palms and predictable codes, then entered the room. It felt cool, and Dean could hear the ventilation whirring away. There were rows of filing cabinets lining either side of the room with a wooden table in the middle. The cupboard smelled of ink and metal.

The cabinets were labelled by names, dates and reference codes. It didn’t take Dean long to find the most recent date, with Parvadi West’s name on the sticker. He slid the draw open with a satisfying whoosh and was greeted by a unicorn horn in a ziplocked bag. It was labelled as ‘murder weapon’. Dean picked it up and opened the bag.

He picked up the horn. It felt lighter than a murder weapon should be, and just as awkward a weapon as Dean could imagine.

Dean closed the drawer, and then realised that the police would instantly notice an empty ziplock bag in their evidence closet. He went through his pockets, and found a slightly gooey chocolate bar which he’d taken from the minifridge earlier.

“Perfect,” Dean muttered to himself. He had planned to save the bar for the journey home, but his beloved chocolate was needed for a higher purpose. He opened the drawer, placed the chocolate bar in the ziplock bag and then closed it again. It seemed slightly absurd that there was now a chocolate bar in a bag labelled as a murder weapon. Death by chocolate, perhaps? Hopefully Detective Inspector Cashew wouldn’t notice that the murder weapon for the latest case was now a Snickers Bar. It was nuts.

As he re-entered the office, Dean could hear Cashew’s loud phone-conversation through the walls. Dean decided to scarper. He had the unicorn horn in his pocket, so there was no reason to stick around.

He slowly opened the door to the station front. Cashew had his back to him and was trying to stay calm as he explained something on the phone. Dean only caught the word ‘unicorn’. The Police Constable was looking bored, but spotted Dean and looked happy at the company.

Dean decided to play it cool. He mock saluted and pointed at the exit door. The Constable nodded and waved. Dean waltzed out, all before Cashew could see him. It appeared he didn’t know yet that Dean wasn’t really CIA. Yet.

Dean rushed to the car, got in and drove away. He tried to be fast, but not too fast. He didn’t want to tip anyone off.

Dean felt the unicorn horn weighing in his pocket, close to his chest. It was hard to believe that it had been responsible for Parvadi’s death – that a real goddamn unicorn had killed a man. And if Dean followed Sam’s advice, they would give the murder weapon back to the unicorn, and hope the fancy horse would be happy enough to go back to the Land of the Unicorns. Dean wasn’t convinced, but he trusted Sam enough to try. Because it was worth a try, right?


	12. A Sticky Situation

Sam heard the door unlock and Dean came into the hotel room. He closed the door with uncharacteristic softness.

“Dean! Did you manage to get the horn?” he bent the screen of his laptop towards him, as Dean reached into his pocket, produced the horn and lay it on the table in front of Sam.

Sam looked at it. Hard to think that this strange spirally thing was the problem and would be the solution to Virtue’s unicorn woes. It was surprisingly small and knobbly; more grey than white; blunted rather than sharp.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, realising Dean hadn’t spoken since he entered the hotel room.

Dean still didn’t reply. Instead he approached Sam and kissed him softly and strongly. Sam groaned at the unexpectedness but didn’t protest in the slightest. Sam deepened the kiss, and felt Dean’s erection up against his hip. Sam cupped his hand over it. Dean let go of the kiss, and they both struggled for a few moments to get their breath back. Dean searched Sam’s eyes.

“I’m so so sorry I almost slept with Lola,” Dean started to say. But Sam didn’t want another apology. He wanted Dean. Sam put his hand up to silence him, but Dean was determined to say his piece. “We should have talked about it earlier. If you want me all to yourself, you can have me.”

Sam smiled and slid his palm up Dean’s shirt feeling the hot, tight muscles of his stomach. “I want you.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. He narrowed his eyes and gently took Sam’s wrists from his chest. “Now I think I promised _you_ something.”

Sam bit his lip. “And what was that?”

Dean kissed him until he was breathless and dizzy, and then led him over to the soft bed. It creaked under their combined weight. Sam lay on his back on the bed, with Dean leaning over the side. Their bodies were pressed together.

Dean slid his hand into the front of Sam’s jeans and Sam gasped. His hand was surprisingly cold, it sent shivers down his spine. But his touch was magical. They stripped off each other’s shirts and Dean ran his fingers down Sam’s broad chest, as if fully seeing him for the first time. He spread kisses in different places.

Sam’s hand snaked downwards to pleasure himself, but Dean snatched at his wrist again.

“I know you like everything quick and rough, Sammy,” Dean said his rugged, sexy voice. “But today we’re going to take it slow.”

Sam groaned in protest.

“You might like it,” Dean countered.

Sam’s hands instead found Dean’s wiry dark hair and he pulled gently but firmly. He watched as Dean took an agonisingly slow, delicious time kissing, licking, biting. He went from the solid muscles of Sam’s chest to the taut skin of his sides to his flat stomach. His touch got lower and lower, until he reached Sam’s belly button. He stopped. Dean licked his lips, and found Sam’s zip.

Dean’s mischievous eyes caught Sam’s before he caressed the head of Sam’s cock with his tongue. Sam shuddered. It felt amazing; beyond amazing. He watched with reverence as Dean licked a stripe up his length. Then another. Sam felt hot and dizzy as Dean’s mouth closed on him.

He was breathing rapidly in short, shallow breaths. The pleasure felt almost too much to bear and Sam tried to sit up on reflex. Dean placed a firm hand on his chest, pinning him back down with one hand while the other was still on Sam’s length.

Dean started sucking again. It felt intense, and Sam moaned Dean’s name. As he’d promised, he was taking it slow – excruciatingly and blissfully slow – with his gentle but powerful tongue and long fingers on him.

Dean pushed down so Sam’s cock slid down his throat. Sam could feel the cold sweat on his back as he thrust into his open mouth, first slowly, then faster and stronger.

He felt himself rising to a climax, but before he quite got there, the sound of Fur Elise filled the room. Not the piano version, but it sounded tinny and electronic like a ringtone to an old-style mobile. Sam realised Dean had stopped touching him. He sat up and saw Dean was rummaging through the pockets of his jeans, and upon not finding the offending phone, he rushed to his discarded clothes. He eventually found it.

“Don’t pick up the phone!” Sam complained. All of a sudden he felt alone. He hadn’t come yet, but he felt the desire leaving him. “We were in the middle of something!”

“I have to, it might be important,” Dean said. There was an apologetic sound in his voice. He pressed a button and the ringtone ceased. “Yeah, hello – hi. Hi Lola.”

Sam put his hand over his face in embarrassment. He had been stopped from coming by a call from Dean’s one-night stand! He felt angry, and regretted forgiving his brother. It was cruel of Dean to toy with him like that.

But then he sensed Dean had moved back to his side, and then felt his sultry fingers on his cock again. They were still slick with his pre-cum.

“Ah, I’m kind of busy right now,” Dean said to the phone in his other hand. Then he rested the phone on his chest and whispered in Sam’s ear. “I’ll keep going, just don’t cry out when you come.”

Sam was about to protest, but then Dean’s hand started pumping Sam again, and the thought went out of his head.

“I don’t cry out,” Sam whispered back indignantly.

This, right now, was what Sam wanted. He wanted Dean. He wanted his fingers curled around his length while he thrusted into it.

Dean said something on the phone, but Sam didn’t even register it. He came. It felt like an explosion, a total release – all that slow, leisurely pleasure culminating in one intense moment. A moment which stretched out into perhaps a minute.

Sam couldn’t stop himself from releasing a long, loud moan. Sam felt Dean’s hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.

“No that, that was just a… uh, moose,” Dean said down the phone. Crowley would be pleased at Dean’s calling him a moose.

Sam felt himself coming down from the orgasm. He took inventory of himself, and realised that he was pretty much covered in his own cum. The strange, sticky white stuff was streaked across his stomach. He’d never made anything close to that amount before. But then again, he’d never experienced a blowjob like that before.

Dean had removed his hand from Sam’s mouth.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” he said into the phone, and clicked the call off.

Something soft hit Sam square in the face. He realised it was a towel.

“Get cleaned up,” Dean said. It sounded commanding, but there was affection in his tone too. “Lola needs us.”

Sam looked at himself again, feeling like he had just come out of hypnosis. There was something dream-like about everything. Sam looked over Dean, who was drying his hands with another towel.

“Don’t you need to…?” Even though Dean was wearing trousers, Sam could see that Dean had a hard-on of his own. Damn, he’d love to do something about that.

“No – Lola’s in trouble,” Dean said simply. “She thinks the unicorns are circling her house. We really should have brought her here or done something more so we could keep an eye on her.”

Sam sat up. His brother sounded serious. He put his jealousy for Lola’s relationship with Dean aside, since her safety came first. He didn’t like her, but he didn’t want her to be killed by a vicious, rogue unicorn. No one deserved that.

Dean leaned in for a quick kiss with Sam. “You’re so sticky. How on earth did you manage that?!”


	13. Howl of the Wind

Five minutes later, Sam and Dean bundled into the Impala and headed straight for Dead Street. Sam had showered and pulled on clean clothes with breakneck speed, while Dean gathered the horn back up and some papers Sam had called for while he was in the shower.

Dean felt guilty about having let Lola stay alone in the house. She had been safe in the hospital – as far as Dean knew, unicorns couldn’t use elevators. But in her house, it was a different story. She was at risk. And Dean had left her at risk.

As if that wasn’t enough, he also felt guilty about Sam. He had planned on treating Sam to a surprising and good blowjob, but the phone call had stopped it from being perfect. He didn’t blame Lola, he blamed those freaking unicorns. The sooner this business was over, the better. Dean could then take Sam back to the bunker and show him a real blowjob.

“So, I was doing some research while you were at the police station,” Sam said. His voice still sounded shaky. Dean took that to be high praise for his bedroom skills. “And I think I found a spell which can close wormholes. I’m not 100% sure it would work. Not even 50%, probably. But it’s the only thing I’ve got.”

He reached over and pulled it out of Dean’s pocket. Dean glanced over. He was driving pretty fast to get to Lola asap. It looked like a photocopy of something old. Like, medieval old. The writing was twirly and foreign, probably Latin.

“It comes from Europe. Apparently in the fifteenth century, a wormhole appeared in the middle of a monastery, so they called a witch – well, witch isn’t the word they used, they called him a magician – and he chanted these words. And bam, the portal closed,” Sam explained.

“Sounds like it worked then. Shouldn’t be a problem for us,” Dean said.

“Yeah, but I’ve read a few accounts of people trying to use it since then, and well, that hasn’t exactly been successful.”

“How?”

“Well, they ended up summoning demons, which tore them limb from limb. Since then, the spell was shelved.” That didn’t sound good. Dean felt quite attached to his limbs. He hoped they wouldn’t have to rely on the spell, but knew there was little way around it.

“We’re here,” Dean said.

Dean slowed the car to a halt outside Lola’s house, and the boys got out. Dean looked around. It wasn’t just night, it was like a dark sheet had settled over Virtue. The pavements were drenched in the darkness, making Dead Street feel like a gloomy and miserable place to be. Lola’s cold house looked more unfriendly in this hostile blackness than the last two times Dean had seen it. He swept the black lawn with his eyes, but couldn’t see any movement. No unicorns. Not even one.

Sam opened the boot and they loaded up on weapons. They took a few extra knives and guns with devil’s trap bullets, just in case they summoned a demon or two.

They knocked on the front door, and found it open. Dean glanced at Sam and they drew their knives. The lights were off in the hallway, but Dean could see a bar of light under the door of the kitchen and through the hole the unicorn had pierced yesterday at about chest-height. He slowly wound his way to the door, Sam following behind him.

“Lola?” he called.

The hallway flooded with light, and Dean was blinded for a moment. It felt like an angel shifting to its true form. But it was only normal light. Blindingly bright, yes, but normal light.

“Dean?” replied a female voice. Lola’s. “Is that you?”

Dean had got used to the light, and looked up to see Lola holding a large kitchen knife.

“Yeah. You seriously think those unicorns are able to talk? And that they know your name? They’re just dumb animals.”

Lola gave a nervous laugh. She lowered the knife. “But they do look pretty though.”

“Not when they’re trying to gut you like a salmon,” Sam added, trying to wedge his way into the conversation.

Lola moved out the way so Sam and Dean could come into the kitchen. It was elegant and polished, but felt empty. It didn’t help that the window was now boarded up thanks to Dean’s efforts the day before.

“How’s the stab wound feeling?” Dean asked.

“Hurts more than yesterday. But as long as this is the only unicorn-related injury I get, I can live with that.”

“So where are the unicorns?” Sam asked. He still had his knife in hand, even though Dean had slipped his into his coat.

“I think they left just after I called you. Took your fair time getting here, the both of you.”

Sam and Dean swapped knowing glances.

“We came as soon as we could,” Sam said after about a minute.

There was a knocking on the boards of the window, and Sam and Dean were on red-alert.

“Don’t worry, that’s just the wind,” said Lola. It howled through the gap between the boards, like it was emphasising her point. The wind paused, then blasted against the boards, desperate to get in. It sounded like a storm in the making. Sounded like it was tearing and clawing at the building, trying to pull it down like a rogue bulldozer.

Dean felt Lola take his hand, but he let go. He didn’t want anything romantic to do with her, now that he had Sam.

The wind tore at the boards again.

“Are you sure that’s the wind?” Sam asked nervously.

“To be honest, I don’t think it was,” Dean replied.

He decided to check. He opened the door to the garden, and saw something a bit more solid than the wind.

“The unicorn’s back,” Dean announced without taking his eyes from it. It stood a few paces away. It had an aggressive expression, like it was waiting for Dean to make the first offensive move. Before trying to kill him.

“The one with the horn or without?” Sam asked.

“Without,” Dean said.

“Well, give her the horn back.”

Dean pulled his eyes away and looked at Sam. He swallowed hard. “Why don’t you give it the horn back, and I’ll wait in the house.”

Sam supressed a laugh. “Not scared, are you?”

That did it. Dean went outside, walking slowly so he didn’t startle the unicorn. It watched him tensely, but didn’t move. Just followed him with its eyes.

“Hey you,” he said gently to the beast, trying to sound both calm and calming. “I’ve got something for you.”

He stopped a few paces away. Dean carefully pulled the horn out of his pocket, and lay the horn by the unicorn’s hooves. Then he backed away a bit. He had no idea if this would work. Was a unicorn clever enough to understand that this was a friendly gesture? Probably not. They were just dumb animals. Glorified, but dumb.

The unicorn snorted, and Dean backed off even more. But then it went down with its front knees. Dean realised it was bowing. Bowing at him! Dean couldn’t help but give a smug expression at Sam and Lola, who were now in the doorway, watching him. Maybe these animals weren’t as bad as Dean first thought.

But now they had a problem – something they really should have thought of: how to put the horn back on. Dean had expected the plan not to work in the first place. And he guessed that maybe unicorns would have some magic power to stick its horn back on or something. He really hadn’t thought it through.

“Got any superglue?” Dean asked Lola.

Lola was about to reply. But she didn’t get the chance to.

A shot sounded. It echoed out into the darkness, and Dean heard a few crows scare from the trees with angry caws. The unicorn neighed loudly, angrily. Dean looked at Sam. He had a gun, after all. But Sam looked just as puzzled as he did. Lola looked puzzled too.

He turned his attention back to the beast, and saw red streaming from its side. The bullet had gone straight into its ribcage, and it was bleeding a river.

There was another shot. The unicorn neighed again – had been hit again. Dean looked over by dark trees and could just about make out a hazy figure.

“Show yourself!” Dean shouted. He pointed his own gun at the threat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” came the reply. Male. He stepped forward, towards Dean, and the light from the kitchen just about bathed him in an eerie glow. Hulking shoulders on a short frame.

“Cashew?” Dean grunted. “Cashew! What the hell are you doing?!”

“Killing that god-forsaken monster,” he replied, as if the issue weren’t even up for debate.

Dean rushed forward and snatched the rifle gun from the Detective Inspector’s hands. He wouldn’t let go easily, so Dean smashed the butt into his face for good measure. Cashew groaned. He deserved that. The unicorn wasn’t doing anyone harm; if anything, it had just submitted.

It looked like a regular rifle, but he guessed it didn’t have regular bullets. It had something that could take down a unicorn.

“How did you get this?” Dean said. He wanted to say it normally, but it came out more as an enraged scream. He couldn’t believe what had happened.

“My daddy. And his daddy before him. Bronze and amethyst bullets, that’s the secret! The Cashews have been protecting Virtue from the threat of unicorns for years. For generations.”

“Threat! This creature wasn’t a threat! It was bowing down peacefully – we were going to send her home tonight,” Dean replied. He realised he had called the unicorn a ‘her’ for the first time. It was funny how being shot made the creature seem all too real, all too human.

“It’s responsible for the deaths of Parvadi West and Maria Malloy. It’s not peaceful.” Dean wanted to smash the gun into Cashew’s jaw again, but he resisted.

“Dean,” Sam said. Dean looked around. Sam and Lola were on their knees by the unicorn, which had crumbled to the floor. The unicorn looked broken. She was on her side, panting heavily. Her white coat – he’d googled the word earlier, not fur, but coat – was now stained red with her own blood. One bullet had struck her ribs, the other had punctured her upper-leg. The stump of the horn on her head looked more broken now than it had when Dean first laid eyes on her. There was no way she would survive this.

It didn’t come as a surprise that such a beautiful creature wasn’t meant for this world. Not with people like the DI around. The sooner they could shut the door between their worlds, the better – not for people, but for the unicorns.

The unicorn exhaled heavily, and spittle streamed from her mouth onto the grass. Her ribcage stopped heaving and the light left her eyes. Under the cloak of darkness in a strange, foreign town, she died.


	14. Hansel and Gretel

“Dean! No, Dean!” Sam cried. He watched as his brother charged for Detective Inspector Cashew, with the weapon that had killed the unicorn in his hand. “Don’t!”

Sam didn’t have time to stop Dean. Dean hit Cashew with the butt of the gun for a second time that unpleasant evening, and Cashew nearly fell down but just about managed to stay on his feet. Dean put the gun on the floor and forcefully frog-marched Cashew into Lola’s kitchen. Sam watched in surprise as Dean chained Cashew to the radiator with the DI’s own handcuffs. Dean rummaged through the pockets of his uniform and took his service gun and walkie-talkie, and put them out of reach on the kitchen counter. He put the key to the handcuffs in his pocket.

Cashew’s face was already starting to bruise. He may or may not have had a slight concussion, but he would definitely sport a lovely purple bruise on his cheek by daybreak.

“Kill them, before they kill us!” Cashew spat.

“Enough,” Dean replied. It wasn’t a request; it was a command.

“You’re nuts,” Cashew said, matching Dean’s tone. He tried to stand up, but the handcuffs pulled him back and he ended up sprawled on the floor.

Dean didn’t even dignify it with an answer. He left the room, with Cashew screaming promises and curses behind him. Sam and Lola got out the way to let him through, back outside into the night.

“We’ve got a unicorn to save,” Dean said simply.

“Where do we start?” asked Lola. She’d just rushed into the kitchen and stuffed something into her pockets. Dean hadn’t noticed, but Sam wondered what it was.

They looked at Sam.

“Uh – I guess we should head to the wormhole. Fingers crossed, the unicorn would then come after Lola and we can herd it back home and close the door. It’s a shame we lost the bargaining chip with the unicorn’s horn. And that we lost the unicorn, too.” Sam felt upset about the loss of the unicorn, but Dean seemed to feel it more intensely, probably because he had befriended the unicorn moments before it was shot by the Detective Inspector. As if Dean had realised they weren’t evil, only for the opportunity to be dashed away.

They loaded into the Impala to head to the closest spot between road and wormhole. Dean had the horseshoe in one hand so they could locate it. Sam and Lola sat in the back, her hand on his thigh. It seemed she’d moved on and now wanted the other Winchester’s affections. Sam politely placed her hand back in her own lap.

Dean pulled the Impala through moonlit streets on the fringe of the forest. The pine trees looked skeletal as they waved in the wind, sending a cold bolt running down his back. Why couldn’t they just have waited until morning?

Dean slowed, then pulled to a halt by the side of the road. Sam just about recognised it as the place where they had first walked into the woods the day before. He steeled himself against the unwelcoming coldness.

They nodded at each other, and then, with Dean acting as the guide with the metal-detector of a horseshoe, they went into the trees. Sam drew a knife, just in case, and a torch, since they needed that. The wind whipped the oppressive scent of the pines into Sam’s nostrils. They tentatively clambered through the dark forest, avoiding tripping on felled trees and muddy ground. It wasn’t the easiest of journeys. Or the most fun.

Eventually, the trio could hear the crackling static of the portal. They surged forward in anticipation, and were greeted with the supernatural glow of the door between their world and the unicorns’ world. All they needed now was for the unicorn to appear.

It didn’t take long.

They heard the cry of the unicorn in the distance. Neither of them had heard anything like it, it was a loud, strong bray. To him, it sounded like the unicorn had realised her friend was gone. She was mourning.

“What’s that noise mean?” Dean asked quietly.

Sam didn’t reply.

“Here!” Lola called. She had her hands cupped around her mouth to amplify the sound, and attract the unicorn’s attention. For someone who had only just learned about the supernatural world, Lola seemed to be really up for being unicorn-bait. Perhaps she hoped to impress Dean with her confidence and bravery.

The unicorn whinnied again, this time as a battle-cry. It had heard her, and it was coming. Sam could hear its hooves in the distance, the steady tlot-tlot heading for them in the murky silence.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, boys,” she said with a wink. Dean went red.

Sam got the spell out of his pocket and straightened the sheet. He held his torch to it, though the portal itself held enough unearthly illumination to read by.

Lola breathed in and Sam could hear her breath stick in her throat. She reached into her pocket and spread a few things around forming a trail. Breadcrumbs? Sam wondered if it were some strange parody of the trail in Hansel and Gretel.

“What are those?” Dean asked.

Lola didn’t have a chance to reply – they spotted the unicorn, and the unicorn spotted them. It stopped cantering, and instead trotted steadily up to one of the things Lola had just discarded. Like a dog being fed scraps, it happily chewed one up, then moved a step forward to consume the next. And the next.

Sam and Dean looked at Lola, perplexed.

“Sugar cubes,” she said simply. “I’ve never met a horse that didn’t like sugar cubes. One with a horn isn’t an exception.”

“That’s genius,” Sam heard himself reply.

Lola pulled another one from her pocket, and slowly approached the unicorn, who had finished eating the last cube available from the forest floor. Lola held it out in her hands and the unicorn looked hesitant, and then accepted the gift. Lola tentatively put her palm on its forehead, between its eyes and under its horn.

“I’m sorry,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Dean told me why you killed Parvadi. And I know I’m supposed to be next. I don’t regret what I did, but I do want you to know that I’m sorry if it’s caused any upset. Besides, you’ve already got your reward.” She pointed to the stab wound that the unicorn had inflicted just two days ago.

The unicorn turned its head to look at her, and then it snorted gently. Then snorted again.

“Was that… I must be crazy, but that sounded like a word,” Lola said, looking at Sam.

It snorted for a third time. Its vocal chords didn’t sound quite as complex as a human’s, but it was enough to distinguish a word.

“Sugar,” said the unicorn.


	15. Staring at Nothing

“You want sugar?” Lola asked the unicorn.

The unicorn nodded. Dean was wrong, and he was shocked – those unicorns were a bit cleverer than he gave them credit for. And there he was thinking they were dumb beasts!

“Well, if you want another one, you’re going to have to come with me, back home,” Lola said. Her voice sounded calm and comforting, like she was a teacher talking to a kid. Lola looked at Dean, wordlessly asking if it was safe to go through the portal. They’d talked about it earlier. Dean nodded with a smile. She smiled back, and led the unicorn through the portal.

Lola returned a moment later. Alone. She wiped sugar off her hands. She looked happy and at ease.

“Come on Sam, let’s close the damn portal and go home,” Dean said.

Sam cleared his throat and began reading the chant. The words sounded powerful and old. Dean could see the edges of the portal begin to shimmer, and then the door grew smaller and smaller, until it faded away into the breaking dawn.

The three of them stood for a moment, looking at where the portal had been, now staring at nothing. The spell worked without a hitch.

“So no demons?” Dean said after a good few minutes of silence.

“Maybe tomorrow – if we’re lucky,” Sam replied.

“Demons?” Lola said with a gulp.

“Don’t worry. You’re safe,” Dean promised. “Come on, let’s drop you off home.”

They drove under the orange sunrise, surrounded by a tired silence. Dean felt some unnameable, complex emotion – sadness at the death of one of those strange animals he had come to appreciate, happy that the other one had found her way home. Everyone deserved a good home. Even psychopathic mythical creatures which skewered people like barbeque meat.

Sam and Dean didn’t go further than Lola’s front door.

“Oh, and…” Dean took the spell from Sam and gave it to Lola. Then he reached into his pocket, and gave her a set of keys. She looked puzzled. “These are for the handcuffs on Detective Inspector Cashew. By the time you let him free, we’ll be long gone.”

“Oh, you can bet on that. Maybe he and I will have some fun with the handcuffs _on,_ first,” Lola grinned mischievously.

“Give him the spell. Then maybe if the portal opens again, Cashew can use those words instead of blasting the poor unicorns to hell,” Dean added. He felt hopeful. Cautiously optimistic, as Sam would probably put it.

“So where are you boys off to now?”

Sam and Dean looked at each other a moment. “We’ve got new territory to break.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of this novella? Please let me know in the comments below, and maybe possibly, like, consider leaving a kudos to let me know its appreciated. :)
> 
> Obviously I wrote this novella as a little bit of fun. But I thought a lot about how to structure it and show specific ideas and concepts. So below is a totally not compulsory list of things to think about. If you're up for it, feel free to leave any of your thoughts in the comments (if not, that’s fine too).  
> 1) How do elements of detective noir fiction manifest in the novel?  
> 2) Bearing in mind coincidences such as provocative Lola's house on Dead Street, and considering the  
> unicorns' emphasis on virginity/monogamy, what is the relationship between sex and death in this  
> novella?  
> 3) Dean first refers to a unicorn as 'it', but later calls a unicorn 'her'. Does his switching of the gender  
> pronoun coincide with his views of the creatures? Does this reflect your views of animals/pets?


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